Day Drunk Into The Night
by SereneCalamity
Summary: Everything was better when they were together. Sciles.


_These two are just so bloody adorable, I needed to write more about them. And Dylan O'Brien in a beanie is fucking life...Yes. Along with piercings and tattoo's, holy shit. And the title of the story came from the song_ Talking Body _by Tove Lo. And of course we get a little bit of a cameo of the beautiful Sebastian Stan snuck in here as well._

 _Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or the title._

The world all kind of made sense to Scott McCall and to Stiles Stilinksi when they met each other. Colours seemed a little brighter, food tasted better, kisses felt ten times better than any others before, and sex felt out of this world. Lydia Martin was the one to introduce Stiles Stilinski and Scott McCall. She claimed later on, amidst a haze of skunky, sweet smoke, that she knew they would make a good match. Neither of the boys disagreed with her, because she was totally right.

Lydia was pretty much _always_ right.

Scott and Lydia were the ones that met first in their microbiology class at University. Scott had been a little nervous when they had been paired up together because Lydia was kind of intimidating, but after a few weeks, they started to get along. And then six months into their first year, they were actually friends. Not the kind of friends that would go out for drinks on Friday nights, which was mainly because Scott didn't really go out as he'd rather stay home and get stoned and watch crappy movies, but they did have lunch together on a pretty regular basis. He started talking to her about how he was looking for another place to live. He was living with his cousin, Liam Dunbar, and his aunt and uncle—step uncle?—and it was getting a bit cramped.

Lydia said that one of her best friends was looking for a room mate, because his last room mate had moved in with his girlfriend, and so he was looking for someone else to live with. Scott had been a little nervous, but figured he might as well check the place out. The friend worked as a bartender, and he didn't really have a chance that week to show his place, so he said Lydia could use her spare key to show Scott around. There was a faint smell of weed and cologne and something minty in the air. The place was kind of a mess, but it wasn't dirty. There was just lots of _stuff_ everywhere, but Scott was fine with that.

What had sealed the deal was when Scott saw a massive poster of a half naked Sebastian Stan on a half open door that probably lead to the guys room.

Lydia set up a meeting between the two of them, and it turned out Stiles Stilinski, the infamous friend, was a fucking hot guy who generally wore a beanie over his spiked brown hair, dancing whiskey eyes, a stud through his eyebrow, a ring through the left corner of his lower lip and tattoo's up the one arm that was exposed, because he had one sleeve rolled up to his elbow. Scott didn't really remember the conversation, but he walked away with a spare key and a huge crush.

When Lydia had first told Stiles about Scott, she had bluntly said she had solved his room mate problem and he didn't need to look any further. Stiles had shrugged, not too bothered. He definitely needed a new room mate, the bills were all starting to get on top of him, but it took a lot to really make him nervous or worried, and so he was sort of just going with the flow and was planning on looking when he really, _really_ needed to. Lydia described the guy as completely gorgeous, with these puppy dog eyes and a lop sided smile, kind of eager to please. They were meant to meet for the first time when the guy was coming over to look at his house, but Isaac Lahey had bailed on work again because of a new hook up, so Stiles had to come in and cover his ass again. Apparently Scott had liked the place, because he then showed up at his work.

And he was adorable.

He had this soft looking brown hair and an uneven jaw that Stiles wanted to kiss, and he kept stumbling over his words, looking across at him furtively, like he was super shy. They weren't really able to talk, because Stiles was still on the clock, and it was a Thursday night, which was pretty much like a second Friday night for college students, so it was really busy. But they talked long enough for Stiles to decide that Lydia was right, _again_ , and that Scott could most definitely move in.

He also decided that there was an incredible risk of him falling for Scott.

Four months in, Scott and Stiles were inseparable.

They were barely ever seen apart.

The pair of them just fit into parts of each others lives that felt as though they were missing before. Stiles brought Scott more out of his shell, but he never pushed him so much that he was uncomfortable, more than happy to fill in the silences with his endless babble. Scott helped Stiles to focus, soothed out his ADHD and focus his energy on his school work or the occasional bout of house work.

And weed helped with that.

 _A lot_ with that.

Then there was the sex as well.

The first time they had kissed, it was at one of Lydia's infamous parties. They were all pretty drunk, and Scott was feeling a little jealous when Stiles' ex, Derek Hale, had showed up. They were laughing together and talking a hundred words a minute as though they needed to catch up on the past ten years of their lives. Scott knew that Stiles was bisexual. Or, maybe pansexual after Scott had done some internet research, because Stiles just kind of shrugged and said he didn't care what was down their pants, if he liked them, then he liked them, it was as simple as that.

Stiles had found Scott sitting outside, smoking a joint and staring up at the sky, high and drunk. They almost always had to be inside when they were getting high, but Scott lived being outdoors, looking up at the stars, feeling the fresh air around him. He liked it when his face was hot and his body was floaty, and air felt cool against his skin, surrounding him. Stiles sat down next to him, invading his personal space in a way that Scott was only comfortable with Stiles doing, their knees bumping up against each other. They shared the joint, and then Stiles put his hand on Scott's neck and turned him to face him. His words were simple,

"You have absolutely nothing to be jealous of." Scott didn't even bother attempting to correct Stiles, because Stiles could read Scott as if he had known him his whole life. "Trust me when I say that you're the only person on my radar." Scott's skin felt as though it was too tight for his body all of his sudden, everything feeling far too hot as his eyes narrowed in on Stiles' mouth.

Stiles' mouth was perfect, and Scott had been dreaming about it since the first time he had met him. Wondering how his lips would feel against his, and the slight contrast of the coolness from the metal ring in the corner of his mouth.

Scott's mouth was almost irresistible, Siltes had been itching to lick and bite at it since he had first walked into the bar. He bet they tasted like weed and bourbon and maybe even the peanut butter skittles that the both of them were obsessed with.

Their mouths crashed together in a kiss that was messy and urgent. Stiles pushed Scott back into the balcony railing, climbing onto his lap and straddling his laps, hands tangling themselves in Scott's shaggy hair, pulling at it right from the roots. The alcohol and the weed created this nice buzz, both of them cross faded, and it just made the tingly sensations that were running over their skin more intense. Stiles felt Scott put his hands on his back, palms warm through his plain shirt, and Scott's lips were so soft, just like Stiles knew they would, and his tongue tasted so good. Stiles' fingers kept scratching at Scott's scalp, and Scott was whimpering and arching his back, shivers jolting down his spine every time Stiles tugged at his hair.

Scott slipped his hands underneath Stiles' shirt, feeling his warm skin, and he traced the bumps and dips of his spine with his fingers. They were both hard in their jeans, and Stiles was acting as though he wanted to get inside Scott's skin with the way that he kept trying to shuffle his body closer, rolling his hips forward. Scott loved it, and Stiles could keep on trying to melt their bodies together for as long they lived as long as he kept their lips together, and kept on sucking on his tongue.

"Scott, Scott, Scott..." Stiles just kept mumbling his name, against the other boys mouth, and every time they pulled apart for a breath, Scott had to open his eyes just to make sure this wasn't a dream. Because this _had_ to be something out of a dream. Or maybe he wasn't dreaming, he was just smoking some really strong weed, and he was in the middle of some hallucination.

But it most definitely wasn't a hallucination.

Because it kept on happening.

And it wasn't just kissing.

They didn't have sex right away, but there was lots more making out. Drunken and high making out, while they were at parties, while they were meeting up for lunch on campus, while they were on the couch in their apartment. Lydia sometimes threw stuff at them, saying that they got way too touchy feely in public, but she always laughed, and no one else really seemed to care. They weren't too bad when they were in _public_ public, it was more when they were with their friends, drinking or smoking, and Stiles got horny whenever he was high, and would pull Scott into him. They were sleeping over at Alison Argent's once, crashing on the couch, and they had fumbled around in the dark until they were both panting and coming in their pants. Stiles had laughed and said it was lucky that no one else was in the lounge with them, because Alison was likely to kill them if she knew they had defiled their couch.

Scott didn't care.

Alison and Lydia were a lot worse than them, no matter what Lydia tried to say.

There was the first time that Scott went down on Stiles. They were both high as shit, and had been low key aroused for hours. They had been out at the movies with Lydia, Alison and Isaac, and it had started with them just touching each others thighs. Stiles had then gotten a little braver, when Isaac had passed around a hip flask of some insanely strong vodka for them to pour into their drinks. Alison had driven them home and they hadn't even managed to get down the hallway to their flat when Scott had shoved Stiles up against the wall, dropping to his knees and jerking open his pants.

Then there was the first time that Stiles had ate Scott's ass until Scott could barely breathe and he thought that his childhood asthma was going to make a reappearance. They had barely seen each other all week—busy with mid-terms and work—and with Stiles working as night shifts that sometimes went until three in the early morning, and Scott picking up early shifts at the veterinary clinic, they didn't seem to manage to make their schedules match. And then they were both _finally_ home on a Sunday afternoon. They showered together, making out with Stiles pressed against the tiled wall, and he had pushed Scott's shoulders, telling him to bend forward. He had pulled Scott's cheeks apart and pushed his tongue past the tight ring of muscles. Scott's moans and whimpers had been enough that Stiles ended up coming with just two tugs of his own cock once he had gotten his lover off.

And the first time that they had made love...It was in a smoky room that smelt like the skunky sweetness of weed. They were watching _Oceans 11_ and it had started off as a debate over who was better looking—George Clooney or Brad Pitt—before Stiles had made a frustrated noise and practically leapt onto Scott's lap. After kissing for far, _far_ too long, Scott had flipped them over, pulling off their clothes and holding Stiles' arms above his head, his fingers locked around his slim wrists. There had been a little fumbling, and some giggling, but that had all faded away to breathy moans and gasps as Scott fingered Stiles opened, before he circled Stiles' wrists again and slid inside Stiles' tight heat.

Everything just worked so much better when they were together, and there was no way that either of them were going back to the grey scale that their lives were before they met each other.

"Stop being gross," Lydia grumbled as she kicked out her foot lazily to where Stiles was lying on the mattress at her feet. It was a hot afternoon, and the boys had gone over to the girls apartment to get high and eat ice cream and watch old episodes of _How I Met Your Mother_.

" _You're_ being gross," Stiles retorted—showing extreme maturity as he poked his tongue out at the red head, who kicked him again. Lydia and Alison were on the couch, laying on opposite ends of the couch with their legs tangled together, while Scott and Stiles were stretched out on a mattress that they had dragged into the lounge.

"Pass the bong and stop being whiny bitches," Alison piped up, no real heat in her words as she held out her hand toward Scott, who silently passed it up to her. The two boys were wrapped around each other like spider monkeys, and Stiles clearly wasn't planning on listening to Lydia and 'stop being gross'. He always became more affectionate when he was high, and while he was quoting Barney Stinson along with the show on TV, he was also nuzzling his face into Scott's neck and leaving kisses along the skin.

"Dude?" Stiles muttered, his breath hot against Scott's collarbone.

"Mm?" Scott hummed, half asleep from the heat of the day, and the way that the weed and Stiles had made his bones feel so relaxed they were practically melting into the mattress beneath them.

"I love you," Stiles words were slurred, and they definitely weren't the first time Scott had heard the words, but they still made his stomach flip-flop.

"Gross," Alison agreed, but she was smiling, and Lydia's expression was only affection as she looked down a the pair of them. Scott felt his cheeks heat up a little, and if this was a year ago, before he had met Stiles, he would probably be so embarrassed that he wouldn't be able to speak. But he loved these people—they were like his family—and even if they teased each other, it was all with fondness in their voices.

"I love you too, dude," Scott mumbled against Stiles' spiky hair.

 _Let me know what you think!_

 _Oh, and with the debate? My hubby thinks George is better and I'm all about Brad, especially back when he had the short, spiky hair ;)_


End file.
